I'm No One
by randomly-placed-herbs
Summary: Who? He was so tired of hearing that word, but no one ever noticed, no one cared. Even the man he loves doesn't remember. If this was some kind of sick joke, it's not funny. They'll see, they'll all see. Slight Snapped!Canada. Written for a friend.


"Who?" That's the word that comes to everybody's head when they hear the name Canada, or Mathew, his human name. Even his polar bear, Kumajirou, doesn't remember him most of the time. That's okay, he supposed. Sometimes it's better to be unseen or unnoticed. The only downfalls were probably being sat on by Russia constantly and listening to his…not-so-bright, southern brother, go on and on about saving the world with this… ridiculous hero theory he has. He spoke up sometimes, or at least he tried to. Everyday he hopes that maybe today will be the day someone takes notice to him, that someone will actually hear him and listen. Possibly he can make a friend, how long has it been since he truly had one? It's been too long… He only has really had one friend though, his older, "brother," France.

Francis, or France as his official country name, was truly something different, one of a kind. Well, at least to Mathew he was. He remembered a time where he and Francis were so close…now it seems like Francis is just like all the rest. He can't see Matt, he can't hear him…he didn't care, and that was the thing that hurt the most. That was _the_ only thing that kept Mathew up some nights. Those hollow words would echo through his head, like a broken record, and it wouldn't stop no matter how hard he tried, it was almost mocking. _He doesn't care…none of them do._ It would be okay with the maple loving country too…if only his crush didn't flirt with every single person he meets. Man or woman, beautiful or ugly, everyone but him. Was there something wrong with him though? Did the older country simply find him repulsive? Why _everyone_ but _him_? If this is someone's idea of a cruel joke, it's sick. He really didn't get it though… was he not disserving of that beautiful smile that seemed to make breathing become more difficult, or those winks that couldn't help but fluster the young country. As selfish as it seemed, Mathew wanted_ him_. No one else, simply because no one else was him…the man he loved… Francis.

"Maple." Mathew cursed lightly under his breath, causing his small polar bear, Kumajirou, to tilt his head up slightly from resting his head on the Canadian's arms, alarmed that his usually quiet master said something. "He's doing it again." One of the upsides to being practically a living ghost no one could hear you, and even if they did, they think it's a ghost. Or maybe that's just his idiotic brother and Kiku… "Why does he have to always talk and flirt with that tea loving bastard?" Normally the quiet country would be extremely shocked at his word choice. He would beg anyone who could hear for forgiveness, but now, it seems like it's become so regular lately that he realizes he's practically apologizing to no one. Why bother saying anything if no one's listening? That bitterness that laced his voice was slowly becoming permanent, and it only seemed to happen whenever he talked about the British man who was always the first thing Francis seemed to talk about. Now the British bastard was fighting with the one who had stolen his heart. Seeing the scene made his blood boil. How dare the bastard think he can touch his Francis like that, hitting, punching, and kicking. If the day comes to where he finally does snap, he knows who he's going for first. The scowl on his face was so evident now, the mask he puts up daily is cracking slowly…One of these days he really wouldn't be surprised if he went on a massive killing streak. Then they would know his name, they would beg him for mercy, but like they do to him, he would give them none. But these were just thoughts…they don't manifest into anything. They're the results of his irrational anger, nothing else. He guesses that didn't matter, none of it did. He's become numb to it now, the anger, the sadness, the loneliness, the bitterness. It's all just numbed, faded into the background until he can let it out as he cries alone. Something inside him wants to push it back until he can't feel anymore, he doesn't do it willingly, no.

"Who are you?" Kumajirou asked in his normal confused tone. His bear asked him that regularly but this time, he didn't know how to answer.

"I-I'm…" Was he really anyone? Would anyone notice or care if he were gone? Surely someone would notice…Who was he fooling? No one would miss him. Not his brother, not any of the other countries, and certainly not Francis. He's nothing but the kid brother that everyone hates having around. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes as he averted his gaze from a freaking out Feliciano trying to calm a red faced Ludwig down, to the ground. He couldn't cry now, not here. "…no one. I'm no one…"

The meeting was a bust, just like the previous meeting and the one before that. He's really starting to wonder why he even bothers. By the time he got into his hotel room, it was nine o'clock. He sighed and dropped Kumajirou gently onto the bed. Pathetic. That was the one thing that came to his mind as he recaps the day inside his head.

"H-Hey Francis, I have a question for you." Mathew stuttered out nervously. Francis took no notice as he kept on watching with an amused smirk at an argument going on between Arthur and Alfred at that moment. It was now break time, and Francis was sitting alone, with his head propped up on his palm. He looked so carefree… and beautiful. Mathew gently tapped him on the shoulder, causing alarm to the French man.

"Oh! Hello…" He started, his eyes squinted, trying to remember who exactly was standing in front of him and trying his hardest to see the seemingly transparent Canadian in front of him.

"I-It's Mathew..." His voice cracked as a small spark of recognition came thought Francis' eyes.

"Ah yes, my Frère! What do you need?" Mathew sunk at his words, but smiled sadly to mask it. _Frère, I'm just a brother to him._

"I-I um w-was…I- I was wondering-"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Francis huffed out as he glared across the room at Arthur, who had apparently said something insulting to the man in front of Mathew. Arthur was smirking smugly. Francis walked coolly over to him, leaving Mathew standing there, mouth open, right about to ask if they could talk privately, so he could say his true feelings for the older country. It took all of his will power not to cry right there. He had been forgotten about, again.

It isn't until after he lies on the bed of his hotel room that he lets the tears free. It was so routine for him now, he plans when he will be done, sees if his guess is right, and bets with himself on exactly when he will finally run out of tears. Then he lays there, dizzy and disoriented, choking on silent sobs and staring up at the beige ceiling thinking. Suicide is most always what on his mind. It's scary to think about…there really are so many ways you could kill yourself. As sick as it was, he has made a small game out of thinking of different and creative ways he could kill himself. _Plus ten if it's painful_.

Could he really die though? He _is_ the personification of a country… a cursed country. He had a great pride for his country, he really did…but sometimes he wishes we could've been born an even greater country. Maybe then France would notice him. If he could actually do it, actually kill himself, where would he go? Is there really something out after death? And is death better then living in this hell we call reality? He didn't know, he supposed he never would. For hours he lays there, thinking, daydreaming, and reliving memories about his past. As much as he tries to rid himself of those negative thoughts though, they come back, they always come back. Those thoughts about how a human body is so weak. Something as simple as a cut to a major artery could do substantial damage. Or he could jump from his tenth floor window onto the busy streets of Tokyo. He's sure that Japan wouldn't appreciate having to clean his splattered body off of the curb though… Or maybe he can get what he always wanted, finally get noticed. Maybe if he took care of all those distractions, Francis had, then he could have him…maybe. Was he willing to take those risks though?

If he had someone, anyone to listen to him, someone to talk to, other then Kumajirou, someone to love him and tell him, yes, he is loved, and that they remembered him. Maybe then and only then, he wouldn't think of his life as nothing more then a waste of space. Even if he _was _dying, if someone…no matter whom they were to tell him that they would remember him…He would die a happy man. If it were his Francis, he would die the happiest man in the world. But he doubts either of those would happen. So he'll just continue to lay there, thinking. Maybe one day he'll make them see. Maybe he just needs to make them see him.

_Maybe one day._

It won't be today,

It won't be tomorrow,

_But one day…_

They'll remember.

_They'll all remember his name as they scream it. _

_**Before the blood splatters.**_


End file.
